


Not In Your Favor

by lyricalprose (fairylights)



Category: Hunger Games (2012), Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, Mass Effect
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Crossover, F/M, Gen, Mass Effect Kink Meme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-03
Updated: 2013-01-03
Packaged: 2017-11-23 11:41:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/621741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairylights/pseuds/lyricalprose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sector 12 is a hard place to grow up. The Terminus Systems aren’t particularly hospitable to begin with, and the laws of the Citadel don’t make things any easier. Food is scarce, work is brutal, and leaving the confines of the settlement is absolutely forbidden.</p><p>But Kathryn Shepard has always made do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not In Your Favor

  
It’s isn’t even dawn yet when she wakes up to Ashley crying.  
  
The younger girl isn’t sobbing. There are no hysterics and no wailing. She’s just curled up against the wall of the prefab shelter that the Williams family calls home, knees pulled tight to her chest. She’s shaking a little bit, and her face is wet. Kat pulls herself up off her cot and slides in next to Ash, back against the cold metal wall.  
  
“The Reaping’s today, Kat.” The younger girl pulls in a gasping breath. “And I’ve never been in before, and I had a dream where it was me and God, I couldn’t –”  
  
“It’s a whole sector full of colonies, Ash, they’re not gonna pick you. Your name’s only been in there once.”  
  
“But what if they do pick me?” Ash does sound a little hysterical now. “Sarah and Abby and Lynn – they’re all so little! And Mom – Mom’s not going to be able to deal–“  
  
“Ash. It’s going to be fine.”  
  
She hates lying to Ash.  
  
  
\---  
  
  
By the time she gets Ash to calm down and go back to sleep, Fathar is already rising, red-orange and bright off in Lorek’s eastern sky. Smoke has already started rising from the mines on the edges of the settlement, and it looks blacker than usual against the sunrise. The Peacekeepers aren’t about yet, and the world seems quieter for it.  
  
It’s a good time to hunt. She laces up her boots, grabs her jacket, and heads toward the western border, away from the mines and towards the wild jungle.  
  
Sector 12 is a hard place to grow up. The Terminus Systems aren’t particularly hospitable to begin with, and the laws of the Citadel don’t make things any easier. Food is scarce, work is brutal, and leaving the confines of the settlement is absolutely forbidden.  
  
But Kathryn Shepard has always made do.  
  
When her parents died eight years ago, the Williams family took her in – even though they already had three daughters of their own, with another one on the way. She’d only been eight then, and she’d tried to pitch in. Help around the house, take care of Ashley and the other girls, that sort of thing.  
  
Then Richard Williams died in the mines.  
  
Things got bad fast. Ashley’s mother couldn’t deal with – well, anything really. Ash was only eight. Kat herself was only twelve. But the Williams girls were her sisters, in every way but blood. Someone had to take care of things, and nobody else was doing it. So she stole a pistol, learned to disable kinetic barriers, and snuck out past the border to the jungle the first chance she got. Pyjak meat isn’t the tastiest thing in the world, but it’s better than starving.  
  
Today there’s more than pyjaks in the jungle, though. She spotted a varren about twenty minutes ago, rustling in the underbrush, and she’s following it as quietly as possible, silenced pistol trained on the little bugger’s head.  
  
“Just out of curiosity, what are you going to do with that once you kill it?”  
  
Kat jumps and just barely manages not to pull the trigger as she whirls around on a familiar, smirking face. The varren, startled by the noise, tears off into the jungle. So much for dinner.  
  
“What the hell, Garrus?”  
  
Garrus’ turian approximation of a grin is absolutely maddening. “What, no ‘Happy Hunger Games’ for your best friend? That’s hardly in the spirit of the occasion.”  
  
She clicks the safety on and scowls at Garrus. “Fuck you.”  
  
“Aw, I’m wounded, Kat.”  
  
Kat slides to the ground and slumps against a nearby tree, and Garrus joins her. She put the pistol on the ground and rests her head on her knees. “Why’d you do that? I haven’t seen a varren out here for ages.”  
  
“What would you have done with it, Kat? I think the Peacekeepers might have noticed you dragging a whole dead varren back through the streets.”  
  
“I could’ve sold it. It would have gone for a lot, you know.” _Enough to feed all six of us for at least a month_.  
  
“It wouldn’t have been worth it. Besides, I have these, and I’m willing to share.” Garrus pulls a handful of dead pyjaks out of the sack he’s been carrying.

 

\---

  
They walk back to the settlement together, pyjaks in hand and comfortable silence between them.  
  
It’s always been like that with her and Garrus. Comfortable. Easy. Ever since she’d punched some little bully in the teeth for calling him “scale-face”, back when they were kids. Back when things were simpler. Before her parents had died. Before either of their names had ever gone into the Reaping pool.  
  
“How many times is your name in today, Garrus?” she asks quietly.  
  
He doesn’t look at her when he answers. “Forty.”  
  
“ _Forty_? Why so many? Did you need the tesserae that badly?” _Why didn’t you tell me?_  
  
Garrus is quiet, for a minute. “Solana’s still little,” he mutters, “and Mom’s sick all the time. There’s nothing we can do about that. And people here – well, you know how it is.”  
  
There aren’t a whole lot of turians on Lorek. Sector 12, in general, is mostly human. Most sectors are predominantly one species or another. Sector 2 has the krogan, so often the winners of the Games. Sector 1 has the asari, whose exotic appearances and biotic talents make them crowd favorites every year. Sector 3 has the quarians, fragile and fascinating and always a long shot to win. There are smatterings of these and other species spread across the galaxy, some very far from their home planets, but in most places the minority groups are the exceptions to the rule.  
  
In some sectors, that fact turns things ugly. The last time someone called Garrus "scale-face" was all too recent.  
  
"When nobody will trade with you and you can’t eat the animals you hunt, those extra tesserae start looking really good really fast." Garrus laughs a little – a hollow sound, no humor in it – and scratches his fringe with one long talon. “Dextro food isn’t cheap, you know. I figure it all comes down to luck anyways. And if it ends up being me, well–”  
  
“It’s not gonna be you, Garrus.” Kat puts steel in her voice, as if she can will it to be true. “It’s not.”  
  
He looks up and sighs, a tired, multi-tonal sound. Fathar’s fully risen by now, more yellow than red in the sky up above.  
  
“Well, I’m glad one of us is sure about that.”  
  
  
\---  
  
  
They sell the extra pyjaks at the Yard. Lorek’s grand center of illegal business is really nothing more than a circle of ramshackle prefabs tucked away in the dirtiest, least-traveled corner of the settlement – but it’s a living. There’s a decent salarian merchant there who’s happy to exchange coin for the meat, and he doesn’t mind trading with turians.  
  
Garrus heads back home afterwards – gives her an awkward hug and a soft “see you at the Reaping” before turning and heading east, back to the Vakarians’ shelter at the very edge of the settlement.  
  
When she gets back home, Ashley is getting the girls up, making breakfasts, laying out clothes and shoes. Nothing as nice as what she and Kat will be wearing, of course. After all, the Reaping is a special occasion.  
  
Kat doesn’t know where Mrs. Williams scrounged up good clothes for her and Ash. Frankly, she’s a little surprised that she was conscious enough to leave the house. But there’s a dress laid out on her cot – a sensible blue knee-length thing with a square neckline. It makes her look like a box, but that’s not the reason she hates it.  
  
Ash has a pretty pink-and-white dress that makes her look younger than twelve. As soon as Kat sees it on her she hates the Citadel more than she ever has before, because Ash is just a _kid_ , and this is _wrong wrong wrong._  
  
But all she says is “you look beautiful, Ash”, and Ash beams at her.

 

\---

 

The Reaping takes place in the center of the colony. It’s televised, of course – broadcast all over the sector, all over the galaxy. Right now, the giant vid-screen set up in the square shows the feeds from the other Sector 12 colonies, where other crowds of children are gathering, all hoping, wishing, desperately praying _don’t pick me, don’t pick me, don’t pick me._  
  
Some years there’s nobody from Lorek chosen at all. Some years the tributes come from other colonies – from Thunawanuro, or from the moons of Urdak. And then some years are like last year, where _both_ of the tributes come from Lorek.  
  
In that respect, Garrus is right. It all comes down to luck.  
  
Ash is with the other girls her age, on the far side of the clearing. Kat can just barely see the pink stripes on her skirt from her spot, closer to the stage. Garrus is right across from her on the boys’ side of the square, huddled together with a few other kids his age – two turians and a human she doesn’t recognize. He catches her eye across the mass of people and nods slowly, a gesture she returns.  
  
Then the microphones audibly come to life as Rana Thanoptis strides across the stage. Her light blue skin has an iridescent sheen to it this year, and her facial markings are a new color. Bright purple, and Kat will be damned if they aren’t shimmering too. Must be some weird Citadel thing.  
  
“Welcome, welcome!” she chirps, in that musical asari voice of hers. “And Happy Hunger Games to you all!”  
  
This will be the fifth time Kat has seen Rana give her annual speech. Her parents and Mrs. Williams kept her home from the Reaping, before she was old enough.  
  
She remembers being surprised, the first time she attended as a potential tribute, that Rana was an asari. She’d expected a Prothean to represent the Citadel on this auspicious occasion. The master race, guardians of the Citadel, champions of the galaxy, vanquishers of the Reapers. The reason for the very existence of all other species.  
  
That’s the speech Rana gives, anyways. The Reaping always opens with the traditional account of the Reaper War, and of the Great Rebellions. Rana’s lyrical voice parrots the story: how the mighty Protheans waged war against the Reapers, the spectre of synthetic doom that threatened to destroy all life in the galaxy. How after a long, hard-fought war, they succeeded in conquering the machines, preserving life throughout the universe.  
  
And how, after centuries of peaceful governance by the Protheans, the ungrateful races of the galaxy rose up to incite rebellion against their guardians, their protectors. These rebellions would go on to tear apart the Empire, spreading hatred, war, and starvation, until their eventual defeat. The Protheans, in their infinite mercy, chose not to eradicate all who rebelled, but to instead institute the Games.  
  
The Reaping – named for the terrible fate that would have awaited the galaxy, were it not for the actions of the Protheans – takes from each of the Empire's twelve sectors two tributes. One male and one female, chosen randomly from the colony worlds, are selected to fight to the death against the other tributes chosen. It is a reminder of all that was and could have been lost, both to the Reapers and to the ingratitude of the Empire’s more disloyal servants.  
  
Personally, Kat thinks it’s all varren shit. But she’ll never say that out loud.

 

\---

 

Rana’s speech is the same as it always is. Kat tunes it out as much as she can. Mostly, she’s trying to keep an eye on Ash, craning her neck to catch a glimpse of her bright little dress at the far edge of the crowd. She spots a few other people she knows out there in the sea of petrified faces – her quarian friend Tali is a few rows back, fiddling nervously with edges of her envirosuit’s head covering, like she always does when she’s worked up about something.  
  
Tali’s name is only in three times. She shouldn’t have to worry, but Kat knows she does anyways.  
  
They’re bringing out the ball with the names now. Ladies first. Rana is smiling, benignly oblivious as always. Kat’s heart is pounding in her chest. Three chances for Tali. Five chances for her. Fuck, _forty_ chances for Garrus. That’s at least forty-eight chances in who knows how many for her life to get shot all to hell.  
  
Rana dips a delicate blue hand into the ball full of names and grabs one piece of paper. _It’s weird_ , Kat thinks detachedly, _that they still use paper for this._ The Empire has all sorts of advanced technology, but this, the Reaping, isn’t advanced at all. It’s just names – thousands of names, thousands of lives – in a hat.  
  
It’s just chance. Luck.  
  
Rana unfolds the piece of paper and clears her throat into the microphone.  
  
“Sector 12’s first tribute to the 174th Annual Hunger Games is–”  
  
Kat sucks in a breath, hard and desperate.  
  
 _“–Ashley Williams!”_  
  
No.  
  
No.  
  
 _No._  
  
An echoing sob, loud and horrible in the silence, goes up from the adults gathered at the back of the square. Kat doesn't have to turn around to know that it's Mrs. Williams. Besides, she's too busy looking wildly around for Ash. It seems like she's gone invisible until Kat sees her emerge from the younger group at the edge of the square, absolute terror writ large on her small face.  
  
 _I told her it'd be okay._ Something cold has her heart in a iron grip, a feeling that's somewhere between rage and crushing despair. It's numbing, paralyzing almost, and yet her feet move almost of their own accord as she pushes past the girls around her, shoves her way out past the Peacekeepers and into the aisle and _shouts_ , as loud as she can–  
  
" _I volunteer!_ "

  
There is nothing, nothing but the rush of blood in her ears. She can barely even hear herself shouting, so she yells again, just to be sure. Just to be heard. 

_"I volunteer as tribute!_ ”  
  
She's proud that her voice doesn't crack, that the rage and fear don't boil over into the words. But her hands are shaking wildly. She balls them up into fists and tries to hide it.  
  
“ _No!_ Kat, _no_!”  
  
Ash's voice sounds wild, hysterical even. She's lost sight of her in the crowd but she does see Garrus, who looks shocked, speechless even. His mandibles are twitching and all he seems to be able to manage is a nod. Then Ash comes tearing down the aisle, face streaked with tears as she makes a run for Kat.  
  
The Peacekeepers scoop her up before she gets there, though. They pick her up and carry her, flailing wildly, back down the aisle – towards Mrs. Williams and the rest of the adults at the back of the square. Kat tries to catch her hand, but she's not quick enough. A whispered _it'll be okay_ that nobody else hears is all there's time for.  
  
Then Kat takes a deep breath and walks up the aisle, towards the vid-screen and the stage. There are Peacekeepers flanking her on either side, but they're a little pointless, honestly.  
  
She's not turning back now.  
  
  
\---  
  
  
Rana is waiting for her up on the stage. She offers one purple-streaked hand to Kat as she pulls herself up on stage, but she doesn't take it. Rana looks a little insulted.  
  
"Well." She purses her lips and smiles at Kat, a saccharine little grin. "What's your name, dear?"  
  
Kat clears her throat a little. "Kat– Kathryn Shepard." The ambient microphones pick up her voice, and it rings out loud through the square.  
  
"Well, Kathryn, I do believe that you are Sector 12's very first volunteer! What a special occasion this is. What made you volunteer today, dear? Was Miss Williams your friend?"  
  
"She's my sister. Sort of."  
  
It's easy to hear the confusion in Rana's voice, but she doesn't press the issue. She doesn't really want to know."Ah. Well. It was very noble of you, regardless. Say, why don't we have a round of applause for our sector's very first volunteer?"  
  
The audience remains silent. Rana looks frustrated. But then Kat sees it. Someone on the boys' side of the clearing snaps their feet together and brings their right hand up to their forehead, arm bent at an angle.  
  
The Systems Alliance salute. Symbol of humanity. More importantly, symbol of the Rebellion.  
  
She can see Garrus do the same, and Tali on the other side of the square. It's not long before the whole mass of people gathered there are standing at attention military-style, saluting.  
  
There's not much she can do except salute back and nod. Rana, next to her, is clearly flustered as she sputters "well, now that that’s over, time for the boys!” She gestures toward the Peacekeeper at the edge of the stage holding the other ball full of names, and he brings it over. Rana composes herself and then dips a hand into the ball, pulling out one more piece of paper.  
  
“And Sector 12’s second tribute to the 174th annual Hunger Games is – Kaidan Alenko!”  
  
Kat breathes a little sigh of relief. It's not Garrus, at least.  
  
But then she sees Kaidan, out there in the crowd, and feel awful for being relieved. He's gone absolutely white. The boys around him are already parting to give him room to walk up to the stage, and the Peacekeepers are waiting in the aisle to escort him. He moves like a dead man walking, eyes fixed somewhere in the middle distance as he shuffles forward slowly.  
  
When he gets up to the stage, though, he looks her in the eye. He's only done that once before.

 

\---

 

Rana makes Kat and Kaidan shake hands, and then they're shuffled off into the Administration building as quickly as possible, while the Peacekeepers disperse the crowd. They put Kat in a dingy office somewhere off the main hallway. The walls are all metal – Administration isn't a prefab building, but it's still cheap and old – and there's nothing there but a desk and some data-feed monitors, all of which are turned off.  
  
She claims the hard plastic desk chair and waits. They'll be coming back for her, eventually.  
  
About ten minutes later, there's a sharp, perfunctory knock on the door. It slides open with a soft, electronic _shhh_ a moment later, revealing Ash and Mrs. Williams.  
  
 _"Kat!_ " Ash runs to her and tackles Kat against the desk as she gets up out of the chair. She's shorter, so she hugs Kat around the waist as tightly as possible.  
  
Kat drops to her knees to hug her back properly, fiercely, and tries not to think about how this will – how this _might_ – be the last time. Mrs. Williams hovers behind Ash, looking tentative and guarded but more alert than Kat's seen her in years.  
  
"Kat, I–" Mrs. Williams starts.  
  
Kat lets go of Ash and cuts her off. "You can't go away this time. Not now. Not ever." Mrs. Williams nods her head erratically.  
  
"I know. I won't. But Kat–"  
  
"Don't." _Anything you say will just make it worse._ "Garrus will bring you food, as much as he can. If you need help, ask him. Or Tali." Mrs. Williams' face falters for a minute – she's never been very good with aliens – but she nods again, and when Kat steps forward to hug her the older woman hugs back tightly, desperately.  
  
Ashley's voice is small and scared in the quiet of the room. "You're going to try to win, right?"  
  
"Of course I am."  
  
"Okay." Ash sounds a little less scared now. Isn't that a thing. Part of her wishes Ash didn't trust her so much. "Then – I hope your odds are good. I think that's how you say it."  
  
Kat pulls Ash into the hug and holds on as tight as she can.  
  
"You and me both, Ash."  
  
 _You and me both._  
  
  
\---  
  
  
It's only been a few minutes since the Peacekeepers took Ash and Mrs. Williams away when the electronic door sildes open again. This time, Garrus and Tali are standing behind it, and seeing their faces is almost better than seeing Ash's. Tali smothers her in a tight embrace right away. Kat is almost certain she's crying – the mask of her envirosuit looks fogged, murky on the inside.  
  
Garrus moves in to give her a hug next. He's so much taller than her that it's awkward, but she appreciates the gesture. "Garrus, can you – will you look after Ash and everyone, as much as you can?" she asks. "I know you've got Sol and your mom and things are tough but–"  
  
"Kat, of course I will." he says, cutting her off.  
  
"We _both_ will." Tali says decisively. Then she rummages around in the storage pouch of her suit and pulls out something small and metal. It glints in the office's fluorescent light. "I have something for you. To remember the sector, you know."  
  
She presses a small metal pin into Kat's hand. It's a circle of some dull, brushed sort of metal, and inside the ring is a casting of a ship.  
  
"What is it, Tali?"  
  
"It's the Normandy."  
  
The _SSV Normandy._ She sees it now. There are pictures of it, in some of the older history textfiles. The flagship of the resistance during the Great Rebellions. It's a beautiful ship, even in miniature form – all smooth curves and graceful lines. Nothing like the Citadel's Prothean-made vessels, which are all hard, angular-looking things, always favoring function over form. Supposedly, it'd crashed in this sector, during the Rebellion's final defeat at the Battle of Omega. But Omega doesn't exist anymore. The Normandy doesn't either.  
  
The Citadel doesn't allow such things to live.  
  
"Tali, it's beautiful, but they're not gonna let me keep this."  
  
"I'm sure you'll find a way, Kat." She can hear Tali choking up, even through the envirosuit's audio processors. "You always do."  
  
Then the Peacekeepers are back to whisk Garrus and Tali away, and Kat is alone. Again.  
  
From now on.

 

\---

 

Almost immediately after Garrus and Tali leave, the Peacekeepers come back to whisk her out of the room and off to the spaceport. She’s never been there before. It’s a few klicks away from the main settlement, built into a mountainous ridge that's only accessible by shuttle. Only the Peacekeepers have those.

She and Kaidan are made to sit uncomfortably close in the enclosed space of the transport shuttle. He has his hands balled into fists on his lap, and his jaw is clamped tight, lips pursed in a worried line.  It’s a lot like the way he always used to look during linguistics class at school. He was never very good at the subject, and she could always see the confusion and frustration writ large on his face from her seat across the classroom, as their instructor tried to explain the differences between human and turian vocalization patterns.

But this isn’t linguistics class. This is the Games, and now Kaidan looks equal parts frusrated and frightened. Every so often, he glances over at her with a meaningful sort of expression, like he's expecting her to say something. She doesn't oblige him. Instead, she focuses on the fading sight of the settlement out the transport window, growing smaller and smaller every second until it finally disappears, a speck of reflected light and color melting into the vast green jungle.

When they reach the spaceport and the Peacekeepers hand them off to Rana, she proceeds to escort them onto the biggest ship - the biggest _thing_ , in fact - that Kat has ever seen. The hulking Prothean craft has to be as wide as the settlement, and it makes the largest buildings there seem absolutely tiny in comparison. She wonders which sector it was built in, and by whom, and whether or not they looked at it with the awe that she does.

Rana shepherds them through corridors with shiny metal walls and glossy data displays, lit by soft green and white lights. They each have their own cabin, as well as access to a shared common area, where there is a dining table laden with the kind of food Kat has only ever gazed at in shop windows - cakes and pies and loaves upon loaves of fresh bread, plates of fragile-looking asari delicacies and racks of meat grilled krogan-style. Altogether, there's probably enough food on that one table to feed the entire Williams family for a month.

Kat suddenly isn't hungry, not even a little.

As soon as Rana leaves them, fluttering back into the maze of corridors as she mutters about finding their mentor, Kat retreats back to her cabin. It's large, far too large and ostentatious for one person. One of the walls is actually an aquarium, back-lit and filled with exotic fish that are definitely not from Sector 12. The dim sound of the water swishing and bubbling in the tank is sort of nice, though. It's a natural sound, worlds away from the omnipresent whirring of the ship and its machinery.

Kat lies back on the too-large bed and looks up - up, through the skylight in the ceiling of her cabin. White stars in an ink-black sky look down at her, indistinguishable from one another in their sheer numbers. They've left Lorek. They might have even left the sector by now.

She closes her eyes to the gentle sound of bubbling water, clutching Tali's pin so hard that the points of the tiny metal _Normandy_ draw blood from her palms.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted (in a slightly more wonky, unedited form) in response to a prompt at the mass effect kink meme ages ago. Unfortunately, life prevented me from finishing it at the time.


End file.
